Harry stumbled down the street of Diagon Alley, his head spinning in every direction. The place seemed to be buzzing, even this early in the morning, when everything was just opening. Bolt could actually feel the magic around him. He could hear it. It seemed to be singing, and to Bolt the complicated song made complete sense. The soft melody, the strident beats, the fast rhythm, all moving and making a song and dance of the world. The magic was alive! The moment Bolt realised this everything seemed more special, as though the magic was influencing his thoughts.
He spotted a huge book shop, called Flourish and Blotts, with signs in the window claiming they had the best prices, the biggest selection and some of the rarest books. He would definitely have to check that shop out. If he went to Hogwarts, he wanted to know just as much as the children brought up in the wizarding. He was at a disadvantage at the moment, but he would change that. He would be brilliant. He would stun everyone with his knowledge, and everyone would wonder how someone with a non-magic upbringing could be so good at magic and know so much.
He saw a shop full of animals, including cats, rats, toads, snakes and some weird animals that Bolt couldn't name. They sang of magic so he figured that they were magical creatures. He wanted an owl, though, as he knew they were the mail carriers of the wizarding world, considering that his Hogwarts letter had come via owl. Hadn't the letter said he should send reply by owl? He reread the letter. Shit! His letter had to be sent yesterday!
What the hell were they thinking, asking for an owl on the same day someone found out about the wizarding world. And he had no one to help him! Couldn't they have sent someone to guide him? Perhaps they didn't know he was in an orphanage? But the letter was addressed to specifically… Although, the letter may have been addressed magically. In fact, Harry could feel a slight humming emanating from the paper. It wasn't as wonderful as the magic on the street, but it seemed to be an imprint of some sort, like a memory of a spell, rather than the actual spell.
Never once did Bolt wonder whether other wizards could hear magic or not. He just thought that everyone could hear it, and that it was just part of everything. He was amazed by it. It seemed to be singing just for him. The only real thought he put to it was jealousy, because most wizards would have been able to feel it their whole lives, or so he thought.
Soon Bolt was on the steps of the huge, white marble building the barman had said was the wizarding bank, Gringotts. Bolt hoped his parents had some sort of money, because it would be a bother to have to steal some money.
The inscription on the huge brass doors made Bolt laugh. Why rob a bank if there are lot of easier things to nick anyway?
Upon entering he inwardly stared in wonder at the huge hall, with the elegant pillars and all the high desks with the strange creatures behind them counting gold, rubies, sapphires and countless other amazingly expensive things. Outwardly, though, his face was one of indifference, as it always was. He had learnt years ago that showing no emotions made people uneasy and gave you the upper hand. A readable face could ruin a business deal and lose a fight.
He walked up to the nearest free desk and stared expectantly at the creature. The name plate read Boldaxe, Goblin accountant. So that's what the creatures were. Goblins. Bolt wondered what other supposedly mythical beings existed. The goblin continued to scrawl into a jotter, effectively ignoring Bolt. He wondered what language Boldaxe was writing in, because it definitely wasn't English. He would find out later.
He continued to wait, understanding that this was some sort of test from the goblin. While standing he listened closely to the magic of the goblin. It shared the same beat and rhythm that human magic did, but its sounds were strange, more metallic. Bolt perhaps wondered if this had anything to do with the precious metals the goblins worked with.
After what seemed like forever, but was probably five minutes, Boldaxe looked up. He looked mildly impressed at the waif, and Bolt was glad he was right about the test.
Boldaxe was very curious about the child. He was quite small, with messy black hair that seemed to almost swallow the light, it was so dark, and the most piercing green eyes. For a goblin they meant emeralds, and ones of great worth. What was very strange, though, was that it was a young boy, wearing muggle clothing that looked nothing more than rags and all by himself, and knowing what was expected when dealing with a goblin! Never in all the time that Boldaxe had worked in the human relations part of Gringotts had he encountered someone who hadn't just strolled up and taken him for granted. Except perhaps Albus Dumbledore, but he was an exception.
"Yes?" enquired the goblin, in what Harry thought was a stuck up manner. "How may I help you?"
"Please, Sir", said Harry, trying to be as respectful as possible so as not to make a bad impression. "I was wondering if I had a vault here?"
"How could you not know? You either have one or you don't! Stop wasting my time!" But seeing the disappointed look on the face of the boy he had been so impressed by made him feel some sympathy.
"What is your name? At least I'll check that much."
Harry's face brightened up considerably. Even though it was unlikely he still had a chance to find out. "Harry Potter" he said, noting the shock on the goblin's usually hard to read face. Perhaps he did have a vault?
The goblin fumbled around for a bit, before finding a piece of yellowed, old parchment. He scrutinised it for a second, and then looked once again at Harry (by this point he had started to think of himself as Harry. It seemed to give him some sort of identity). He finally pulled out a golden plate.
"Put your hand on this. It will tell me if you are really who you say you are."
Harry placed his hand on the plate, and it seemed to glow, and he felt a tingly feeling, like pins and needles. The plate seemed to melt then reform, leaving on it a detailed, of which Bolt could understand nothing. The goblin stared at the plate for almost a minute, surprise evident in its eyes. It simply could not believe this was Harry Potter. Surely he would be with someone? Oh well.
"Griphook!" he called. "Please take Mr Potter down to his vault." He handed Griphook, another goblin who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, a small key. He then turned back to Bolt.
"After the vault has been opened Griphook will give you a key. You must always bring this key with you if you wish to make3 further withdrawals from your Gringotts account. Understood?"
Bolt nodded. He realised this was additional advice the goblin would not normally give and so was glad. Griphook motioned for him to follow and so he did.
They walked down some corridors and soon left the huge, proud marble halls and entered tunnels carved out of the rock and lit with lanterns that hung from the ceilings. It was how Bolt might have imagined a mine- dark and dirty.
They reached a row of carts attached to a set of tracks. The tunnels disappeared into darkness before Bolt could see where they went or even turned. Griphook's face curved into a devilish smile and instructed him to get into the cart. Griphook's expression unnerved him slightly, but he still got in.
That first ride in a Gringott's was something Bolt would never forget. It was probably the most exhilarating thing he had ever experienced up until then in his life. It turned and twisted, leaving his stomach miles behind on the track, and they passed huge rock formations and caverns. Every so often they would pass some doors, but he would only get a fleeting glance. He thought he saw something breathing fire, but he wasn't sure. It wasn't anything dangerous surely? This was a bank for goodness sake! But then he remembered the warning on the door. This place must surely have some real great stuff worth stealing.
When the cart finally stopped by a door that looked thoroughly disused he asked Griphook, "What kind of protections guard this place?"
"Why?" asked griphook with his crooked smile. " Not thinking of stealing anything are you? For your sake, I hope not."
Bolt shook his head. "I just thought I saw something…" and heard something he added to himself, as a strange magic played in his ears.
"You would be foolish to try anything. There are dragons guarding the oldest vaults, and wards everywhere. If you tried to open a door you would get stuck inside. We only check the vaults every ten years." He gave a strange chuckle, and Bolt gulped uncertainly. That would not be pleasant. The strange music he heard must have been the wards, always meshing over each other, forming a hugely intricate web.
While thinking Griphook placed the tiny key into an equally tiny keyhole and had turned it. Whilst the door clinked away, he could hear the magic deactivating to a more passive level, still there but not overly harmful.
What he saw inside the vault took his breath away. There were piles of gold, silver, and bronze. Enough, Bolt thought, to last forever. Or so it seemed. It glinted in the lantern light and he just stared in shock. Griphook seemed pleased at his appreciation, standing smugly and looking proud.
"Is this a lot?" he asked breathlessly.
"Enough to last you through seven years of Hogwarts, yes" said the goblin.
Bolt nodded and scooped up about two hundred of the gold pieces and a few silver and bronze pieces.
"What are they called?"
The goblin looked at him strangely and replied " The gold ones are galleons, the silver are sickles and the bronze knuts."
The journey back from the vault left Bolt in silence. He was just stunned by how much money he had.
A few minutes later found Bolt standing in the glorious morning sunshine. The day promised to be clear, blue and stunning: a classic English summer day. All the shops were now open and the first shoppers were already milling about. The air was cleaner in Diagon Alley than the rest of London, Bolt thought.
He looked at the school list and decided he would go and get his potions supplies and then perhaps some breakfast. He wandered the street and soon spotted the apothecary. He had only been in the street for less than an hour but he could feel himself falling for it. The lively music of its magic, the friendly atmosphere, the colourful store fronts.
The apothecary was cool, quiet and shadowy, a huge contrast to the outside. Bolt found it a peaceful rest. He asked the shopkeeper for a standard potions kit and then left.
Spotting an ice cream shop on the other side of the street, with a proprietor called Florean Fortescue, he strolled over. He sat down at one of the small tables that were set in the sun, pulled of his jumper, put his bag at his feet and enjoyed the sunshine. Soon a jolly looking, fifties looking man wearing an apron and a smile strolled up.
"What can I do for you today, young man?"
"Could I have a deluxe raspberry and chocolate sundae please?"
"Sure you can! I'm Florean Fortescue, jolly nice to meet you!"
Bolt couldn't help but smile back. "I'm Harry. Nice to meet you!" He thought it would be good to start thinking of himself as Harry, since that was his name.
"Nice to meet you Harry! First year I suppose? Well, I hope you enjy your visit!"
"Thank you sir, I'm sure I will sir"
As Harry ate his ice cream watching the bustle of Diagon Alley, he contemplated his first real discussion with a wizard. He wondered if everything else would go as well.
His next stop was Madame Malkin's Fine Robes for all Occasions. What more could happen on this amazing day?